


Through the Gates of Hell

by TheMoonlightPhoenix



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, things get better to get worse to get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoonlightPhoenix/pseuds/TheMoonlightPhoenix
Summary: I felt robbed of a season 5, so I'm writing this to wrap things up.  Louise Iver continues to cause problems for the team, but now they know who they're up against and are once again working as a team maybe they can muddle through this. But Ed's been keeping a secret that complicates everything. Meanwhile, Chandler and Kent are desperately trying to figure out where they stand with one another.
Relationships: Joseph Chandler/Emerson Kent
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	Through the Gates of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, thanks for giving my fic a chance. I'd had so many fragments of fics buzzing around my head I figured I'd merge them all into one fic. I will give this a title soon; I wanted to get this out there before I chickened out.

Chapter 1

Joseph Chandler finally gave in and realigned the pen he’d been resisting touching for the past five minutes. He was sat, hunched over, at his kitchen table before what looked like the entire contents of a Rymans stationery store, and wishing he could just go back to work. After the disaster of the Abrahamian’s case, the whole team were “given” two weeks off while an enquiry was held into the significant amount of suspects who had died in their care or during an arrest. The enquiry was merely a formality, neither he nor any of his team had done anything wrong or against procedure (well there was Kent and Mansell’s fight, but no one beyond the team knew about that, and it hadn’t really impacted their investigation), so he was confident that no one was getting fired at the very least.

With everything that had happened, Joe knew his team needed and likely appreciated a break, but it was driving him mad with boredom. After five days of stress-induced cleaning (involving polishing every surface, wet vacuuming all the carpets, de-lime scaling and bleaching his already spotless bathroom, wiping down all the woodwork, taking down and washing all the curtains, re-arranging all his books only to unrearranged them not twelve hours later, and a shame-filled trip to B&Q for a new light switch), Miles had finally told him to either find something meaningful to do or he’d dump Martha on him on for a week; as much as Joe loved his goddaughter, he wasn’t sure he could manage her for a day let alone a week. In the end, he’d gone out and bought copious amounts of pens and seven ring-bound folders and set about making plans to piece his dysfunctional mess of a team, himself included, back together. His plans were complete with goals and targets for each detective (and one archivist), ways to create a better working environment, and some team-building exercises. He’d read all his manuals again, and he could simply send his team on various mandatary courses, but he knew his team better than that, and they wouldn’t stand for anything official. Instead, he’d been looking into more escape room type activities they could do and was reasonably sure he could persuade them to attend so long as he offered them free drinks at the pub afterwards; it was worth a shot at least.

The pen now in its correct place, or as correct a place as it was going to get, Joe went back to double-checking his plan for Kent; He had to get this right. After a heart to heart talk with Mike, an old friend from university and fellow DI, he had been forced to take a long, hard look at himself. He and Mike had been through a lot together in their younger years and, even though he was now living back in Manchester, they still spoke regularly; he was Joe’s only long term friend and the only one who could get away with talking to Joe in the way he did. Following Joe pouring his heart out to him about everything that had happened surrounding and since the death of Morgan Lamb, Mike had told he’d “been a dickhead” and “needed to buck his ideas up”. Mike had been right. Joe had messed up terribly with his youngest DC; he’d been short, snappy, rude, and downright unfair to him. He hadn’t meant to be, not really, but Kent made it so easy. The more stressed Joe got, the more he needed to exert control over his environment, and Kent always provided exactly what he craved. If Joe lashed out at any other member of his team, he wouldn’t get nearly the kind of reaction needed to feel in control. Any amount of displeasure would go right over Ed’s head, Mansell would just roll his eyes when he thought Joe was no longer looking, Riley would at least pretend to take him seriously, while Miles would throw it all right back at him. Not Kent though. The young detective would fidget, fail to meet his eyes, and when had finished, would mutter a meek “Yes sir.” or “Sorry Sir.” and “I won’t let you down again Sir.”. It was enough to bring back some semblance of control, and he hated himself for it. Kent was loyal, brave and, hard-working, he’d forgiven Joe much more than he deserved, and Joe repaid him by treating him like a stress ball. Things needed to change. He needed to change.

***

For what was now the third day in a row, Emerson Kent found himself in sweat-pants and a t-shirt sprawled haphazardly on the sofa pretending to watch TV; he had no real interest in Bargain Hunt, but couldn’t be bothered to change the channel – daytime TV was always shit anyway. His flatmates were all at work, and he’d run out of things to do. He could go and visit Erica, but there was the fear he’d run into Mansell. He may have gotten the two of them back together, but he still wasn’t happy about their relationship and had remained at odds with the other DC. Not that his relationships with the rest of his colleagues were much better at the moment, and for that reason alone, he was glad for the time off. If he wasn’t at work, then he wasn’t disappointing Chandler, which he seemed to have been doing on a semi-regular basis over the last few months. His jealousy fuelled accusation against Morgan Lamb had driven a wedge between himself and his beloved DI. His work following her death had been shoddy and rushed at times: he’d wanted to get quick results to prove himself to still be a good policeman, Lamb’s words echoing in his mind even after all this time. His bitter fight with Mansell had felt like the final nail in the coffin, and it was killing him. To make matters worse, the small ray of hope he’d been given was snatched away almost as soon as he’d had it.

After finding Josie Eagles’ body, he had finally found himself back in favour with Chandler, who had even agreed to join the team for celebratory drinks when Kent had asked. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of their last interaction. He’d fumbled his words, accidentally asked Chandler out with him before correcting himself. He thought he’d given himself away for sure. Chandler must have picked up on it, but if he did, he made no comment, and surely if he’d picked up on it then he’d have picked up on, to at least some degree, Kent’s feelings for him, and then wouldn’t have agreed to join him, but he had accepted, so did this mean Kent had a chance. Those thoughts had his mind running circles around itself for all if five minutes before the call came in; all their suspects were dead, and once again, their killers would not face justice. Chandler had been in his office when the call came in and still hadn’t emerged twenty minutes later when Miles told them all to go home, before ducking back into the DI’s office. Kent had wanted to comfort his DI, but he figured the other man wouldn’t appreciate it right now, least of all from him. Despite the fact, he’d wanted to do something, so he set about cleaning the office, making sure all their files were in the correct places, and no rubbish was left on desks, and tried to ignore the muffled cacophony of yelling form the boss’s office. A further forty minutes later, Chandler stormed out of his office and had been half-way through the incident room when he noticed Kent standing by a filing cabinet. “What are you still doing here?” he’d snapped, though hadn’t given Kent chance to reply before following up with, “Go home. Now, DC Kent.” Kent had slammed the draw shut, grabbed his coat and, eyes stinging, pushed past the DI and made a beeline for the doors. Before leaving, he stopped, looked back at Chandler, who still hadn’t moved “What?” Chandler demanded “You’re a real prick, y’know that Sir?” the words never left him. The following day they’d been put on compulsory leave. So ultimately Kent had no idea where he stood with Chandler, and had taken to moping on the sofa feeling sorry for himself while indulging in crap TV and a sickening amount of takeaway pizza.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading; the next part will be up soon.


End file.
